


Lammoth

by elennalore



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dom/sub Undertones, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Darkening of Valinor, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennalore/pseuds/elennalore
Summary: Melkor returns to Middle-earth with the Silmarils. When Ungoliant attacks, Mairon senses his Master's distress. He comes to help him.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Lammoth

The darkness terrifies Melkor. It’s a different kind of darkness, not the cradle of creation he so desires. He has killed the Two Trees and drained their light, just as he destroyed the Lamps before. The darkness of the world should have been his reward. But not like this. This darkness has no potential for change, no future. This is all-devouring unlight. And it surrounds him like a merciless cage.

Melkor is in pain. It is almost too much. He is a Vala, the mightiest of them. That he is now both shaking with fear and pain is a heresy. It’s against every belief he has, and that, in itself, is frightening him. He clasps the crystal casket that holds the Silmarils in his right hand despite the gnawing pain. He fears the unlight more than the pain, and the light of the Silmarils is the only thing that keeps unlight from touching him. He holds the casket desperately, praying for the light of Valinor to keep the unlight away.

The frozen way leads back to Middle-earth. There he has dominion over land. It’s a place he almost could call, well, home. That’s where his little flame waits for him. But now the horrible unlight follows him there, and it threatens to devour him and all that is dear to him.

Ungoliant, the incarnation of the Void. The end of change. After drinking the light of the Trees, she has become more powerful than Melkor thought was possible. From her comes the current of this insane darkness. Yes, she helped Melkor to escape from Valinor, but now it is impossible for Melkor to escape the unlight. All her eyes are locked on him. He can feel her insatiable thirst.

He can never let Ungoliant in his realm. She would be the end of everything. Something must be done, but he can’t get rid of her or her black vapours.

Melkor fears the end like he never has before. Can immortal beings die? Can their essence be devoured like Ungoliant drank the essence of Yavanna’s trees? The end like that would be so unfair. Too long, he has been a prisoner. Three ages in Halls of Mandos, then prostrating himself in front of his brother, submissive, while still denied of any real freedom. Only now he has escaped from his golden prison, and the thought makes him laugh for a while, but there’s a shadow surrounding his victory, and that shadow is Ungoliant. She has the power to end everything, and Melkor is not ready to vanish. Not when he is finally returning to his realm.

Ungoliant runs behind him, her all eight legs rasping and clicking as she goes along the icy path. The stars above them are hidden behind the veil of unlight. She is impatient and thirsty. Melkor doesn’t dare to stop. Not here where he is all alone. His hand is dripping blood and gore where the holy light of the Silmarils touches his fana. Middle-earth is far away, and the fear grows inside him.

Was it worth it to kill the Trees and steal the light inside Fëanáro’s pretty gems? Oh, definitely. If he survives this, they will know he is mightier than ever. Fëanáro will learn to fear him.

He only needs to get rid of that dark spider, Gloomweaver. But that must wait until they reach Middle-earth. Melkor knows he will be more powerful in his own dominion. So, he endures the pain and runs, tall and mighty like a thunderstorm. Ungoliant comes after him, seeping unlight his way. Melkor is short of breath even though he knows he doesn’t need air.

* * * * *

Finally, Melkor reaches the land that sings his song. Middle-earth, his home. The stone and soil and underground fire are still ringing with his music. The echoes of his deeds will never die in this place. He proudly amplifies the old song of the land, making his presence known to his allies.

It is a great relief to him when his Valaraukar welcome him by joining his song. Their voices are a rumbling thunder in the distance, but he can hear them clearly. They have stayed in the stronghold of Angband all these long years, and now they are overjoyed at their master’s return.

One voice, different from others, rises to call him, to question him. His lieutenant, his little flame. Mairon, who always has loved words more than speechless music, starts shooting impatient questions his way.

_Master, have you really returned?_

_Where are you?_

_What took you so long?_

Melkor starts to tell his cheeky Maia that the imprisonment in Mandos was clearly not a holiday and that he came as soon as he could, and with presents, too. But Ungoliant must have sensed their telepathy, or otherwise become restless, for she seizes Melkor’s right arm with one of her pincers. Melkor turns to face the giant spider who seems to have become even more gigantic. The black clouds she belches surround Melkor thicker than ever, abruptly silencing Mairon’s voice in his head.

“Now you’ll listen to me,” hisses Ungoliant and clicks her jaw. “You still haven’t paid me for my generous help. I’m still hungry!”

Melkor can’t help it, he shivers with fear. The monster beside him would probably eat the world itself if she could. And he sees how she eyes the crystal box where the Silmarils are. The fear inside him turns into righteous anger. After all he has gone through to get Fëanáro’s masterpieces for himself, he is surely not going to part with them! Yet Fëanáro’s gems is just what she demands from him. Melkor gives here other jewels he picked from the fortress in Formenos, those he had wanted to decorate his little flame with. It’s a pity, but Ungoliant’s unlight threatens to eat him, and so he empties his hand obediently.

He empties one hand, but not the other. Ah, he is definitely not going to give her the Silmarils. Even though Ungoliant desires their light, Melkor notices how she still shuns their brightness. The unlight is weaker near the Silmarils, and Melkor starts to understand the gems may be his only defence against the all-consuming unlight.

He is not going to let go of them.

“No!” Melkor shouts to the approaching void. “These are mine forever.”

And he can’t help thinking that these might be his last words in Arda.

Ungoliant’s attack is sudden, but Melkor has expected it. He evades the sharp pincers that slash at him. It’s time to leave the annoying monster behind, he thinks, but there’s something seriously wrong with his shape-shifting skills. In horror, he realizes he can’t change the form of his fana at all. There’s no way to become a winged creature and fly away with the Silmarils; there’s no way to become a shape even more formidable than Ungoliant, driving her away.

Moments later, Ungoliant attacks again, and this time she manages to push Melkor down. Melkor is in agony. After all he has endured in the hands of the Valar, it feels so pointless that Ungoliant should be his ruin. But he can’t find enough strength to fight back the swollen monster whose lust for Silmarils seems to give her power unimaginable. She doesn’t let him go. Quickly and efficiently, she binds his feet together with a sticky web she produces. Her cruel sting sinks into his vulnerable neck, her otherworldly venom mixing with his essence, his ëala. In terror, Melkor finds he can’t move. Again, Ungoliant tries to snatch the casket holding the Silmarils, but they are locked in Melkor’s right hand, and with a laboured effort of mind he can only just keep the spider from touching them. It’s the only thing he can do to protect himself. The hard earth quakes as Melkor’s might is dispersed on the ground of the land that still whispers his name.

Soon, the whispers become restless trembles. The earth cries for help, and Angband answers.

Angband’s answer is swift and powerful. His Valaraukar know now that their master needs their help, and they don’t hesitate. Their fury feeds their dark flames as, one by one, they leave Angband and start to approach the place where they sense their master is suffering. Melkor is almost relieved. The help is on the way. He only needs to withstand the attack a little bit more.

But then, through the black clouds of Ungoliant, he hears a new voice, a voice full of golden light that makes his insides freeze.

_Master, I can feel your distress!_

_Is someone attacking you?_

_I can help you, I’m on my way now!_

“No! You shall not come!” Melkor shouts in agony, but his command is either too weak to reach Mairon or else the Maia is too stubborn to obey. Melkor can feel his Maia flying in the air as an enormous winged creature, ignorant of the doom awaiting. What chance does he have against Ungoliant? The unlight will be too much for his precious Maia! Mairon will arrive first, realizes Melkor, even before the Valaraukar, and then Ungoliant will devour him. The little flame will be annihilated!

Melkor can’t bear the thought of losing his little flame. Eons ago, he searched The Flame Imperishable without success. But when he found his little flame, it was somehow almost as good. He can’t let Ungoliant annihilate the only thing that kept him sane during the three ages in Mandos. He tries to writhe, but Ungoliant’s venom has paralyzed him from the neck down. It’s useless. He gives a cry of despair, mouth wide open.

That cry of anguish trembles the land like nothing before. The rocks shatter into pieces around Melkor and Ungoliant. Even the mountains around them shake as they echo back the cry, causing landslides far and wide. The sound of despair becomes louder, but it doesn’t scare Ungoliant away. On the contrary, she quickly closes the short distance between herself and her prey. Her abominable mouth presses against Melkor’s, mighty jaws forcing Melkor’s mouth shut. Now, only the echoes of the cry can be heard any more.

Melkor shakes his head fiercely, trying to get rid of the suffocating touch of the spider. But all his efforts are in vain. Like a gesture of a perverse kiss, the spider presses her mouth against his. And now she bites, and bites again, and again and when she finally rises, viscous mucus is dripping from her jaws, and Melkor realizes he can’t open his mouth. Ungoliant has sewed it shut with her thick thread.

“At last we got rid of that horrible wail,” says Ungoliant and clicks her jaws. “Now, give me those shiny gems you’re still holding.”

A terrible fury flashes in Melkor’s eyes, and what little bit of power he has left he channels into his hand holding the Silmarils. Ungoliant involuntarily takes a couple of steps back from her bound and paralyzed captive. But soon she understands Melkor’s hatred can’t hurt her now. Once again, her many-eyed head bends above Melkor’s, her actions driven only by the lust.

Ungoliant spins more thread from her mouth. The newly made web clings to Melkor’s bare neck, strangling him. The fana he is stuck in protests, fighting for breath, but Ungoliant doesn’t give up. A long time passes - how long, Melkor can’t tell. Time has stopped for him. He is unable to move, unable to sing his music, and being strangled by Ungoliant’s eerie webs. 

Melkor knows he is one of the Powers, he doesn’t need air to survive. But it’s so hard to convince his fana not to panic in fear of suffocation. Helplessness is a novel feeling for him. _When will it end? What if it won’t?_

“Didn’t you hear me? Open your hand and give me the gems of holy light.”

Melkor shakes his head desperately, fighting to open his mouth. The cruel stitches on his lips cannot be broken. He wonders if Mairon is already near. What about his Valaraukar? It’s hard to think clearly, the hypoxia or the venom must have affected his thoughts somehow. He concentrates all his feeble efforts on keeping Ungoliant from not touching his hand. She must not get the Silmarils. After eating them, Melkor is sure, she could make the whole Arda into a Void.

“Give me the shiny gems, or I’ll pierce your eye.”

She tries again to grab the Silmarils, but Melkor is ready. _No._ A raw spiritual push hustles Ungoliant away from their radiant light. She hisses at the dark Vala, stretching her legs. It takes some time she dares to approach her captive, but too soon she is all too close again. Melkor can see she is really angry now. He doesn’t have much time left.

“For that you’ll lose your eye.” Ungoliant’s voice is full of venom.

The giant spider lunges towards him, one of her legs risen. A sharp claw strikes through Melkor’s left eye before he can even react. Desperately, he tries to turn his head away but it’s too late. His eye is gone.

A long, animalistic moan comes into being inside him. Compared to the previous cry this is a muted one, and it doesn’t shake the mountains. To be so helpless is infuriating. There’s a weird throbbing pain in his eye socket, and a cruel continuous pain in his right hand. His body is maimed, his mind is bound and powerless.

It would be so easy just to give her the Silmarils. But Melkor knows it would be the end of everything. Let them say he is corrupt, but at least he tried to save the world from annihilation. The thought fills him with pride, and he doesn’t give up fighting, weak though he is.

“Give me the shiny gems now, or you’ll be blind forever!” Ungoliant raises her leg threateningly up above his face. She is really going to do it.

“Last warning, Blackheart,” she announces, and Melkor’s heart trembles; not because of her words, but because he can suddenly sense his little flame somewhere near. Very near, and in horrible danger. _Mairon, no._

“Begone, monster!”

Above them, golden light tears unlight in half as Mairon dives and attacks Ungoliant. He comes down at breakneck speed and gives the giant spider a rough kick on the threatening leg, forcing her away from Melkor. But Mairon comes down too fast, and when he hits the ground he stumbles and falls. Melkor can’t see where his precious Maia has fallen, and he fears for him. Ungoliant is near.

_Run, my little one! It’s not safe!_

But then the darkness around them catches fire, and pure relief floods over Melkor. He hardly notices his pain any more. His Valaraukar have arrived. Ungoliant starts her fierce counter-attack. A horrible unlight engulfs Melkor, and then – nothing.

* * * * *

Melkor wakes up, and with his one good eye sees Mairon’s face above his. His Maia is so beautiful in the light of the Silmarils. The burns in his hand are so worth of the sight. Mairon’s long flame-coloured hair hangs down, pleasantly tickling Melkor’s sore neck. His little flame looks worried, but also determined. He is gently removing the stitches crossing Melkor’s mouth. Melkor exhales deeply when he’s done. He lets Mairon lick away the blood from his lips. It soon becomes a kiss.

“I have missed you,” Melkor croaks. Then he remembers the unlight and its bearer, and tries desperately to get up, but his arms and legs still don’t co-operate.

“Where is she?” he asks fiercely. “Ungoliant...”

“It’s all right,” Mairon soothes him, but there’s a strange pain in his amber eyes. “The Valaraukar attacked her with their whips and are driving her away right now. She won’t return.”

“Good.”

Now that the cruel stitches are away, Melkor starts to sing a song of change. The leaves in the low bushes surrounding them turn yellow and brown by the power of his song. But it’s just like before when he tried to heal his burning hand in vain. His song is not powerful enough to heal his maimed left eye. He can feel sticky substance that was his eyeball ooze out of his eye socket. If anything, his song makes the situation worse.

“Master, your eye...” Mairon extends his arm towards Melkor’s maimed face, then hesitates. “Why doesn’t it change back?”

Melkor groans. He is fully aware how ugly he must look to his Maia now, his little flame who always has loved the beauty of all things.

“It seems that my ability to change physical form is greatly lessened lately.”

 _My ability to cure my wounds_ , he thinks, but doesn’t want to say it aloud. Could there be a curse like that hidden in the Silmarils?

“My lord, let me try.”

He nods, and Mairon starts a song of his own. It’s a magnificent song of regeneration, and Melkor is surprised by the power of it. Oh, his Maia has surely grown so much mightier while his Master was absent.

Mairon doesn’t give up easily, but in the end he must admit his song is of no help either. Melkor can see the pain in his Maia’s eyes, but also devotion. It warms his heart. But the light of the Silmarils is constantly burning his flesh, and he wants to go home. He has an idea.

Melkor can feel a tingling sensation as the paralyzing effect of Ungoliant’s venom is lessened in his body. He raises his hand, the one that doesn’t hold the Silmarils, and pulls Mairon’s head close to his own.

“You must eat it. Eat what is left of my eye. You’ll get the power to See like I do.”

Mairon meets his gaze. Mairon can see he means it. However, he doesn’t act yet.

“But my lord, it’s your eye. We must find a way to heal it!”

“I have still one eye left. I don’t need more, as long as you stay on my side.”

“I will always stay on your side.”

“Then do it.”

For one brief moment Mairon still hesitates. Then his mouth is on Melkor’s face, his tongue licking the vitreous substance, carefully first, then taking it almost greedily into his mouth. Melkor watches as his precious Maia carefully swallows a part of him, freely given. Their holy Communion.

Mairon’s skin radiates golden light, and he gives a little ‘ah’ as he starts to feel the effects of consuming a part of a Vala. Melkor slowly sits up. It’s wonderful to watch Mairon’s pupils dilate. The fiery light in his eyes becomes even more intense.

“You will be my fiery eye in this world,” Melkor whispers, deeply moved by the devotion of his little flame. 

But Mairon is not interested in divine prophecies. He quickly cuts the rest of the threads that bind his Master and helps him up. The effect of Ungoliant’s venom has worn out, and Melkor finds he is able to stand. The Silmarils are safely in a casket, but ah, how they burn. Mairon sees his pain clearly with his new eyesight and frowns.

“What gems have you there that seem to have the light of the Lamps inside them?”

 _The light of the Lamps._ Melkor realizes Mairon doesn’t know about the Two Trees of Valinor, and now he will never be able to see them. He would have loved them. Now the sole surviving light to delight Mairon is placed on Melkor’s palm.

“It’s the light of Valinor, and I have brought it to Middle-earth. To us.”

“They are beautiful. But they hurt you.”

They really do. “Yes. But they are precious, and worth the pain.”

There’s an odd look in Mairon’s eye. “Precious – like me?”

Melkor freezes for a moment, not instantly knowing what to say. He knows the Silmarils have been on his mind a lot lately, perhaps more than his loyal Maia, but he doesn’t want to explain this now.

“Come here,” Melkor gives a command. Mairon obeys, and with his free hand Melkor pulls him into a violent kiss. He can still taste his own flesh in Mairon’s warm mouth, but soon the taste is covered by the metallic taste of Mairon’s blood as he bites him.

“You shouldn’t have come, precious,” Melkor says afterwards. “Ungoliant could have consumed your golden light, and that would have been the end of you. Didn’t you hear my order to stay back?”

Mairon gives a mischievous smile. “I don’t know. Perhaps I did?”

Oh, he has forgotten how tantalizingly stubborn his Maia can be. Three ages in the halls of Mandos has that effect on you.

“I see that during my absence, you have completely forgotten the meaning of obeying your Master’s commands.”

Mairon drops his gaze. “I apologize.”

“You should, and you will.”

Melkor can feel his power already returning to him. Here, the earth itself nourishes him. It’s the power of olden days hidden in stone before he was cruelly taken away from his land. This is the place where the mountains bow to him and fire beneath the earth serves him. Aman’s crippling influence is gone; this is Middle-earth where his power lies.

“Take me home,” he says to Mairon.

**Author's Note:**

> During the writing process, the one-eyed Melkor became my new headcanon. I think his character has some qualities similar to Odin from Norse mythology who is also one-eyed.
> 
> I see Melkor as a wounded king/god archetype (like the Fisher King in the Arthurian/holy grail myths), and in this story I just felt I should give him one more wound.
> 
> I don't know if Melkor managed to re-create his maimed eye later, or if he stayed one-eyed for ever. I'll leave this open for now.
> 
> Here is also my new headcanon about how the Eye of Sauron came into being.


End file.
